Short Crypt Poems
Short Crypt Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Crypt by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Crypt by length and keyword.
Trump In Crypt
Trump had slowly slipped,
Into what was well kept crypt;
Than to China shipped.
Jim Horn
Started a new card game called,
"Bringing in the trumps. We shall
come rejoicing bringing in the
trumps.
When this pen of mine it dries
Pondered words in memory dies
Forever lost on paper wrought
Emotions gone in fleeting thought
Left there to beg unwritten script
Falls quiet into memories crypt
What words hath thou in mind
You have failed to leave behind?
I crept right in, post Summer's stay
You see, it's always been that way
Tween life and death, I fill the crypt
As summer's luscious green is gripped
By ashen fields and dying leaves
That fall from shrubs and stately trees
To gift my days with brilliant glow-
Before I rest neath Winter snow
I am a vault for the deceased -
for those who failed to make it past
the autumn of their lives.
I house the bones of the fallen ones
too frail to endure another winter -
who withered away like fall’s dry leaves.
Oh, how beautifully they shone
in the spring of their lives.
Trees, shedding their leaves;
Colors change, as summer dies.
Bears prepare to hibernate;
Plants wilt and return to soil.
People retreat, out of the cold.
Forests weigh heavy,
Smelling of rain and decay.
A gravesite made 'til Spring.
* 'Personally Speaking' Poetry Contest
* Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
* Entered: 11/1/2025
A howling rain that blotch upon my skin,
autumn rambler through that tangled leaf maze,
I am the deathly veined nightmare tomb,
whose dance macabre ghost ridden blight,
a morose bell toll clatter eardrum jinx,
blank ink bead choker voodoo last curtain,
light fusing blind host to nonexistence,
undertaker’s tool in morbid trade
Submerged in fiery red and golden blond
My heart is burdened by whispers of wind
Who write stories on my spirit, dismal
Moments when I yield to the sun’s will
Who will dress my fragile notes in wine
And peace that never feels quite as great
As the caress of each dream fading from night
Who stifles my breath with soft moonlight
Stonemason's talent
his gnarled hands carve fine art
fluid beauty from granite
Flowers, fern and foliage
Exquisite presentation
Not for mortal eye.
The crypt slumbers on
Divine carved angel awaits
With patience sublime.
A holy quiet
Permeates this sacred place
Time has no meaning.
STONES
Poetry Contest
Sponsored
by
Anthony Biaanco
Contest : Personally Speaking, Sponsored by : Nette Onclaud,
Date : November 5, 2025
As the hazy summer screen blows away
I spread sapphire hue on the silky sky,
sail cotton clouds across the azure.
Let the trees absorb colors I burst,
gild the leaves before they fall.
I frame a Monet with glow of delight
in my crypt for you to feel in winter
the touch of warmth from my afterglow.
Autumn leaves were falling
in red, orange, gold and yellow,
as I strolled a cemetery quiet.
Until I heard whispers and moans.
Hello, where are you? Can I be of help?
I am in the crypt and cannot get out !
Trees were shedding gold and rain was falling.
Are you dead? Yes, and my door out is locked !
In a deep crypt
With moss covered walls
All damp and musty
Candles cover all the niches
And dark shadows cast
There’s a light
Coming from a crystal ball
In center of the room
Showing twisted faces
That can be used for evil
The witch controls them
Through the channels of the ball
She takes over her devious ways
And brings pain
To innocent people
All for fun
Russell Sivey
PERSONALLY SPEAKING: Title - This Autumn Crypt
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Date: 01-Nov-2025
---------------------------------------------
The season of the grows come to an end;
Lifeless leaves make their beds of rest,
In their suits of yellows and browns,
Decaying fields of bare bones heave a sigh.
They will persevere the long night,
Through the harsh wrath of the wintry death,
Before giving way to a new life --
And like a phoenix they shall rise.
Dank
darkness
was always
settled around.
It was all I knew
of the near universe.
Stale, stifling, suffocating
in my broken and spilt trundle
leaving bitter, morbidly clammy
earth enshrouding my body and being.
A crack in the soil, or in time perhaps.
Slivers of light split the filthy floor,
crawled over ornate catafalque,
and continued its approach,
like winter's blinding ice,
to my exposed bones.
Warming flesh grew
and coursed with
new - life
blood.